


same old bobby, same old beat

by spock



Category: Blitz (2011)
Genre: Arguing, Attempted Seduction, Barely mentioned OMCs, Convincing Prospective Partners of Worthiness, Couch Sex, Developing Relationship, Differing Expectations, Extra Treat, First Time, Jealousy, M/M, Marking, Miscommunication, One-Sided Attraction, Partners to Lovers, Post-Movie(s), Slight Obsession, bickering as foreplay, one-upmanship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 14:46:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4880881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spock/pseuds/spock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nash forced Brant to upgrade his mobile after the third time he had shown up at Nash's home unannounced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	same old bobby, same old beat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [linndechir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/gifts).



Brant's just finished getting himself comfortable when Nash walks through the door. Nash pauses halfway at the sight of him, frozen like a deer in headlights. Brant lets himself appreciate the moment, of having shocked the unflappable bastard for once. "Have a good day at work then, love?"

Nash takes a few jerky steps to his left and into the kitchen, tossing his keys and things onto the counter. "How did you —"

"Made myself a key," Brant says, already bored with the conversation. Nash stares at him banefully, just on the wrong side of annoyed. Brant stretches out a bit more across the length of the sofa and adds, "What? You rather I kick the door in?"

He watches as Nash undoes the buttons down the middle of his jacket, then the ones at the wrists of his pristine white shirt underneath. "In that case," Nash scoffs, "Thank you for being so very considerate, Brant." Nash doesn't even know the half of it.

How considerate Brant's being, that is.

Nash's been dialed up to eleven since before he even said _hello_ that morning, clipped and carrying on with his hands clinched tight as fists at his sides. Brant's never been the type for a heart-to-heart, but you'll meet no other who's more willing to get pissed with you until all your troubles are a thing of the past.

'sides, Nash can be a good bit of fun after he's had a bit of drink in him, just enough to make him lose his head. Doesn't take much to get him there, neither. For all that Nash is a prissy little shit, he's done enough in his life to have a handful of stories that on occasion make even Brant feel tempted to blush. They've been partnered up for long enough now that Brant's gotten used to the fact that all of Nash's dirty stories involve two blokes. He doesn't even mind it much anymore. Considerate ain't even the half of it.

Brant decides he doesn't want to go down that path tonight. Not when he's started to find himself truly realizing that those stories he's been hearing about really are _Nash_ with some —

"Alright, well," Brant reaches for his glass where it's sat on the table and swallows down the dregs of the drink he'd been nursing for the past twenty minutes, waiting for Nash to come home. "Fix us a drink then, Mother."

Nash shouts at him to _use a fucking coaster_ , but does as Brant told him, like the good lad he is.

 

  
*  


 

Brant starts popping 'round to Nash's a few times each week. Usually Nash is there to answer the door, yanking it open just as Brant is about turn his pilfered key into the lock. Sometimes Brant beats him home, and is waiting in Nash's sitting room by the time he walks through the door. He never looks exactly pleased to see Brant darkening his doorstep, but he never changes the locks either.

 

  
*  


 

It's on one such night that Brant finally has to face the reality of Nash's — well.

If Brant were a different sort of man, one of the burgling sort, he would have already had the two of them knocked out and tied up by now. Nash has his hand halfway down the dickhead's trousers before he seems to sense someone else is in the room. The fabric is so thin that Brant can see Nash's fingers wrapped the little shit's dick.

"Aren't you going to introduce your date?" Brant flips the light on after he finishes speaking, indulging his dramatic side a bit. The little shit shouts, turns, and Brant realizes that he's not so little after all.

"No," Nash groans. He untangles himself and stomps right over to where Brant's leaning against the wall. "No, no, no." He grabs himself a fistful of Brant's shirt with the hand that hadn't just been clutching a handful of another man's prick and drags Brant towards the door.

Brant's shoved out the front door before he can so much as shout out, " _Oi_."

 

  
*  


 

They're in the lobby of a not-particularly legitimate business, waiting for the owner to return from the back offices with what are sure to be doctored-up records. Brant doesn't give much of a damn just so long as those employee logs have an address for the latest scumbag they're hunting down.

He spends the time staring at Nash, not bothering to hide the fact. Nash spends the wait pointedly _not_ letting his gaze land anywhere near Brant. They've barely said three words to one another, but there's a question that's been on his mind since what went down the night prior and now seems as good a time as any to ask. "You like a bit of rough, Nash?"

Nash lets out the put-upon sigh Brant's ever had the pleasure of hearing. It tells Brant everything he needs to know, and he smirks. "You would; it's always the buttoned-up types. How come you ain't never chatted me up, then?"

The owner shouts something from the back room, his labored steps echoing as he heads back their way. Poor bastard's a gimp. "Sure," Nash suddenly says, not bothering to lower his voice. "I like them just as rough as anyone does, Brant, except I like mine to like dick just as much as I do. Much more fun that way." He finishes speaking well after the owner's rejoined them, eyes wide and face a ruddy pink, the ledger he's brought back clutched to his chest, as if it'd protect him from Nash's lustful gaze.

Brant snatches the book from his hands and starts flipping through it, searching for a familiar name, rolling his eyes at the pleased smirk spread across Nash's face.

 

  
*  


 

He keeps bringing it up throughout the day: as they're driving over to the address they've just gotten; while they chase down their suspect, fleeing from the address they've just arrived at; during the beating he administers, that inadvertently leads to their suspect confessing to being their perpetrator just to make Brant stop, a job well done; at the knick and back at their desks, while they fill out the paperwork to wrap up and close their case. All the while, Nash ignores his questioning.

Brant doesn't bother pretending that he'll be going back to his. He follows Nash down into the tube and back to his flat, tapping his foot as he waits for Nash to unlock the door. "Honestly mate, why aren't you following me into the men's for a cheeky one any chance you get?"

"You told me not to, don't you remember?" Nash says. He unbuttons and hangs his coat, fishing his keys and wallet out of his pants and tossing them into the dish beside the door. "Besides, and I apologize if this diminishes your self-worth, but you're no so irresistible." He sounds completely bored with the conversation and they haven't even started yet. That, more than anything, is what pisses Brant off.

"I'm a catch," Brant insists. "If I got one of those sex programs, there'd be boys queuing 'round the block to get with me."

Nash actually laughs. "I'm too old to have subpar sex with the uninitiated. Brant, seriously, there's nobody else around; who exactly is that that you're trying to shock. I'm the one who has all that gay sex, remember? You're not about to get a rise out of me."

"Who says I'm a newbie?" Brant crowds his way into Nash's space until he's got Nash pressed against the island in the middle of the kitchen. "'sides, I'm a fast learner. I picked up texting quick enough, didn't I?"

Nash forced him to upgrade his mobile after the third time Brant showed up at his house unannounced. Now he sometimes gets messages from Nash when he's held-up with his Chief Inspector duties, telling Brant to pick up this or that from the market if Brant's going to be stopping over that night. "Bet I'd get a rise out of you."

"You can't be serious." Brant lets his drawing closer serve as his answer. "I can't believe this."

Brant decides that he doesn't want to do this in the kitchen. He drags Nash and himself into the living room and drops himself onto the couch, taking special care to spread his legs into a wide-open sprawl, one leg kicked out across the cushions while the other rests on the floor.

Nash still looks like doesn't entirely want this. Brant's going to have fun changing his mind.

"Swear to god, you storm off in a panic before I get mine and leave me blue and aching? I'll kill you the first chance I get."

 

  
*  


 

Brant spends a good amount of time working a mark into the skin of Nash's neck. He never gets a chance to admire it, the thought leaving his head the moment Nash sinks down onto his lap, taking Brant's cock into his body in one smooth movement. "Jesus _cocksucking_ Christ."'

"We're going to have to do something about that mouth of yours." Nash laughs and Brant can feel the way his body tightens around him as Nash does it. He's not sure he'll survive this. "You want me to get you a pillow to bite?"

  
*  


 

After round one they move to the into Nash's bedroom, where Nash draws out a second that Brant isn't even sure he stayed conscious until the end of.

He wakes up an hour into when he was already supposed to be in for work, alone in Nash's bed with his entire body aching, even though Nash was the one who did most of the work, and the only thing Brant had up his arse was one of Nash's long fingers, stuffed up him after Brant had said that there was no way he could get it up again so fast.

' _This'll do the trick_ ,' Nash had said.

He hadn't been wrong.

 

  
*  


 

The Superintendent tries to corner Brant, two hours late and wearing the same clothes that he'd had on the day before, but Brant manages to sidestep him easily. Instead, he heads directly to Nash's office, smirking once a few constables crane their necks to catch a look at him as he walks past. At first glance in the mirror that morning he'd thought Nash snuck a few love bites of his own, but upon closer inspection Brant realized that they were too perfectly spaced for that. No, he's got a bruises in the shape of Nash's fingertips collaring his neck.

Nash is sat behind his desk, smiling to himself as he types something on his keyboard.

"Alright then," Brant says, leaning against the door's coving. "What's got you glowing?"

There's no other word to use for the smile Nash shoots him besides _devastating_. Brant's glad that Nash wore him out last night, otherwise he might be tempted to drag Nash into the 'gents.

Nash sits up straighter at his desk, looking over Brant's shoulder. "I'll tell you, but you'd better keep it to yourself. Those bastards have only just stopped drawing profanity about me in the toilets."

He waves Brant closer, motioning for him to close the door. His voice is pitched low as he says, "There's this bloke who I've been eyeing up every morning at the tea place across the street. Ran into him this morning and he saw this great ugly thing you left on me," Nash points to his neck, where the mark Brant left stands out starkly against the pale column of his neck. "And whispered in my ear that he'd never image me havin' the sort of tumble that lead to something like that. Finally got his number, though I suppose I've got you to half-thank for it, so cheers. We're going out tonight."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Brant's two seconds away from flipping the fucking table.

"What?" And damn if Nash doesn't look one hundred percent confused, as if they hadn't just had the fuck of Brant's life and it apparently hadn't even been a blip on Nash's radar, him already moving on to the next conquest.

"Fucking poofter." Brant storms out of the office before he does or says something he'd regret.

 

  
*  


 

It hardly takes any detective work at all to smoke out the restaurant where Nash and his date have gone to.

Brant drags a nearby chair to their table and seats himself, ignoring the maître d's stink-eye. Nash's face gets progressively redder as Brant picks food off his date's plate and asks, "What vegetable is most comparable to your cock, you reckon?"

He smirks at the bastard as Nash grabs him by collar and drags him back out onto the street, date left bewildered at the table, sitting by his lonesome.

"What is your problem?" Nash's doing his whisper-shouting thing, getting the way he gets whenever he's so mad that he's looped back 'round to serious.

"What, you think you can hop in and out of my bed without me being upset about it?" Brant feels too old to play the hard-to-get game. Chasing Nash has been tedious enough, he's not willing to wait for Nash to catch on and find the sense to chase him back.

Nash's face makes it clear that Brant's words were just about the last thing that he'd thought Brant would say. "It — it was _my bed_."

"I'm open to negotiation," Brant shrugs. "You'll find I can be downright affable, when I feel like it. If the incentives are right, that is."

People are starting to take notice of them, aggressively whispering to one another in the middle of the sidewalk and all. Nash grabs hold of him again and drags them both into an alleyway off to the side. "Do you seriously think this will work? Your first gay relationship? Hell! Your first relationship _period_ , for all I know."

"You finicky bastard," Brant says. " _Yes_ , alright, I think it'll work, seeing as I'm just about the only one who can put up with you." He shoves Nash until his back is pressed against the opposite wall, and then pushes himself forward until their chests are pressed together, mouths close.

" _You_ put up with _me_?" Nash rolls his eyes so hard that they nearly disappear into the back of his head. He doesn't try to push Brant away.

"See, and we agree on stuff too." It gets a laugh, at least.

"I'll hold your bags while you shop for your poncy clothes and then I'll rough you up in the carpark before we head home." Nash opens his mouth to say something but Brant cuts him off, "Out of view from the CCTV, you dirty bugger. Can't have respectable bobby's getting knicked for indecent exposure."

"If it's not that, you'll get yourself hauled in for something else," Nash says. He's not saying that he's against the idea. Of there being a _them_.

"Posting my bail will get you all bothered, we both know it." Brant twists his head so that their cheeks are pressed together, his face tipped up so that his mouth hovers beside Nash's ear. "You think that stiff in there can wind you up like I do? Why're you even trying to make a go with him, Nash?"

Nash's hands come up to rest against his chest and he says, "What, compared to the assured, long-term happiness I'll get with you?" His hands twist into the knit of Brant's jumper even as he scoffs.

"Now you're getting it." Brant grins. "When've you ever known me to quit?" Brant is sure that it wont take long for Nash feel a bit thick for not realizing how perfect they are for one another. Coppin' off in an alleyway is just Brant's style.


End file.
